


The Holidays Are Happy With You

by SushiOwl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Morning, First Kiss, Holidays, M/M, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:58:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5477198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles brings Peter some food over the holidays, and Peter wants to make the best of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Holidays Are Happy With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HaleVNeck](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=HaleVNeck).



> Yay, it's done! For the wonderful HaleVNeck on tumblr. :D I put this off for a full month like the procrastinator I am. I hope you like it, babe!

Peter had never believed in the spirit of Thanksgiving. He was pretty sure the Native Americans didn’t appreciate that they’d gotten smallpox blankets and bullets to various body parts instead of a meal with the settlers. Eighty to a hundred million dead Native Americans and a few years later, the holiday’s message had become skewed, somehow becoming a religious day. Peter didn’t get it.

But, be that as it may, Peter liked the holidays. He liked having huge meals with family, all of them gathered around the broad table, passing sides and breads between each other. They had all the trimmings, turkey, and ham. 

The only thing they usually had that other families probably didn’t was deer. As far back as Peter could remember, the Hale family had hunted down a stag for the holidays, usually letting the youngest have the killing bite. They’d eat half at Thanksgiving and freeze the rest for Christmas. Usually Peter’s father had made jerky, which had been Peter’s favorite thing ever.

It had been a long time since Peter had had deer or holidays meals at all. There were plenty of people that he knew were celebrating the holidays. Derek had his sister and full brat pack. Scott and Stiles were joining families, as Peter heard they usually did. Peter just wasn’t invited. 

So instead of a feast, he was sitting on his couch in only a pair of flannel pajama bottoms with a tub of Moose Tracks ice cream in his lap and a large spoon in his hand. Because fuck you. He had his bare feet up on the coffee table, watching the Thanksgiving Day parade on his television. After he finished his ice cream, he was going to take the most wonderful nap.

But then there was a knock at the door, and Peter looked to it as he swallowed his spoonful of ice cream. Who could that be? He set the tub and spoon on the coffee table and got up, his nostrils flaring as he tried to scent whomever was on the other side of the door. But the only thing he could smell was food.

After pausing the recording of the parade, he opened the door, and there stood Stiles, smiling hesitantly with reusable shopping bags filled with plastic containers. This close, Peter could smell the anxiety that Stiles always had under his bravado. 

When Peter didn’t say anything right away, Stiles grinned at him. “Hey, creeper wolf, how’s it hanging?” he asked, before he pushed his way inside.

There was a moment of shock before Peter closed his door. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, during lunch I was thinking about how you were probably all alone. Everybody should stuff their face on Thanksgiving, so here I am, the provider of food.” He jiggled his bags, before he spotted the ice cream tub on the coffee table. “Moose Tracks?” he asked, smirking like a little shit.

Peter tipped his chin up, refusing to be shamed for liking fudge and peanut butter cups. “It’s delicious,” he said very haughtily, before he went to pick the ice cream up. 

“Sure,” Stiles said. “Show me to your kitchen, lord of the lair.” He cringed only a tiny bit like he was trying to make it obvious that he was embarrassed by himself.

Managing to hide his smile, Peter led Stiles into the kitchen. He grabbed the ice cream tub lid and put it in the freezer as Stiles started unpacking the containers on the island. Was that a large container of turkey dressing? He loved that stuff. 

As Stiles was setting everything out, his stomach gave a loud growl. He made a face, looking at Peter, before he laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “Lunch was like five hours ago, so I guess I’m hungry again.” 

“Mm,” was Peter’s opinion as he looked over the food. “Stay and eat with me.” Stiles lifted his brows, and Peter put his hands on his hips. “You did say you were worried about me being lonely.” Dinner with Stiles at the table was more graceful than just shoveling that tub of cranberry sauce into his face.

Stiles looked like he was considering it, before he smiled warmly and nodding. Peter felt his heart go _thump thump_ at the sight, so he turned to grab a pair of plates. 

He wasn’t sure if Stiles was his friend or not, but what they had was a positive relationship. Since he hadn’t killed anyone since his resurrection, Stiles had eventually grown comfortable enough to bicker with him at pack meetings. They’d known each other for years now, since Stiles and the other brats were in their early 20s now. He still remembered when Stiles had shared his bag of mini Oreos with him ages ago, starting whatever this was between them.

After heating the food up, they made their plates in comfortable silence, elbows brushing once. Peter had to admit the food looked great. “So, who cooked?” he asked as he grabbed a fork and knife and headed for the table. “Scott’s mom? Your dad?” He sat down and looked over to Stiles.

“Me, actually,” Stiles replied, bringing his plate in to sit across from Peter.

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, looking embarrassed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I always get up super early to put the turkey in. I even made three pies last night. They got consumed though, so I probably shouldn’t have told you about that.”

Peter gave him a flat look.

Stiles cleared his throat and started cutting up his turkey and ham. “Scott helped. He peeled potatoes and cut up veggies. He may be an awesome true alpha, but don’t let him near a stove. He will burn everything and light the curtains on fire.”

Peter couldn’t help the way his lips pulled back at one corner into an amused smile. “For some reason I’m not exactly surprised.”

Smiling warmly around a bite of food, Stiles nodded. After he swallowed, he indicated to Peter’s plate. “Be brutally honest about the food though. I may start crying, but it’s a learning experience.”

Peter chuckled, a piece of turkey in his mouth.

The food was good, very good, and Peter told Stiles so, earning a sweet smile. Stiles hobbled out into the living room after they ate, mumbling about being full to bursting. Peter followed after him, leaving the dishes for later.

“Ugh, I feel like a balloon,” Stiles said, plopping onto the couch and toeing off his shoes to put his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m gonna just sit here and recuperate.”

“If you must.” Peter sat down next to Stiles, grabbing the remote and putting his own feet up.

“Oh man, are you watching the parade?” Stiles didn’t let Peter answer before continuing with, “Do you have the whole thing recorded? I didn’t get to see it this year.” He scooted down so he was slouching and one with the couch. “Can you go back to the beginning?”

Peter sighed like he was terribly put out, but to be honest he was full of good food and warm. He reset the recording and hit play. He rolled his head to pop his neck, before he grabbed a throw pillow to hug as the parade started over. 

Silence fell between them, the only sound being the TV, and it was a comfortable weight, kind of like a plush blanket. It made Peter feel sleepy and pleased, like a wolf rolling onto its stomach and stretching. He was probably going to bed after this.

Stiles seemed to be feeling the same, because ten minutes later, his head lolled against Peter’s arm, and he gave a snort. Peter looked at him, finding his conked out with his mouth hanging open. He was snoring a little, and it sounded like kitten purrs.

Trapped where he was, Peter sighed and kept watching the parade. He was acutely aware of Stiles’s warm cheek against his bicep, his breath fanning out over his skin. There was something nice about having someone to keep him company, even if they were busy being unconscious.

When the parade ended, Peter scrolled through his DVR for a while, trying to find something to occupy him. But it was almost nine at night, and Stiles would probably prefer not to wake up on a couch instead of his bed. That and Peter needed to pee rather urgently.

He jostled Stiles with his shoulder. “Hey,” he said, and Stiles jerked up into a sitting position with a little piggy snort. “You gonna live here now or what?”

Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face before looking around like he had no idea where he was. Then he looked at Peter and his face flooded pink. “Oh, shit, I fell asleep on you. That’s embarrassing.”

“It’s fine,” Peter said, standing up to stretch out his body. “I didn’t even take a picture of you drooling and send it to your friends.”

Stiles snorted. “So kind.” He stood up and stretched too, various places in his body popping. He groaned, before he scratched at his tummy. “I guess I better head out.” 

“I guess so,” Peter agreed.

Peter helped Stiles gather the plastic containers into his bags and walked him to the door.

“Well, it’s been fun,” Stiles said, before he yawned.

“Thanks,” Peter told him, and Stiles looked at his face. “I really appreciate you coming over like this.” 

That seemed to surprise Stiles. “Really?”

Peter’s face didn’t change. “Yes, but no one will believe you, and I will deny it to death.”

Rolling his amber brown eyes, Stiles shook his head with a sigh. “I’m honestly not even surprised.”

Peter smirked, before he reached out to grab Stiles’s sleeve. “What are you doing on Christmas Eve?” When Stiles blinked owlishly at him, he rubbed his thumb over Stiles’s arm. “Let me make you dinner.” He paused a second. “As a way to show my appreciation.” 

“Oh.” Stiles licked his lips. “Okay. Yeah, that’ll be cool. I usually just eat a whole pizza and veg on the couch.”

Snorting softly, Peter gave Stiles a real smile. “Well, it’s time for that to change.”

Nodding, Stiles pulled out his phone. “Let me give you my number, just in case.” After they traded digits, Stiles beamed at him, pleasantly flushed. “See you later, Peter.”

Peter watched him walk down the corridor to the complex’s elevator. “See you.”

* * *

Stiles didn’t text Peter in the following weeks, which was fine. They didn’t really have a reason to communicate. That was until Peter was shopping a few days prior to Christmas Eve. He had the basics, like turkey, ham, potatoes, and assorted cans of veggies. He grabbed two cans of cranberry sauce, before he hummed in consideration at his cart. He pulled out his phone.

 **To Stiles: 4:37pm**  
What kind of sides do you like? I have stuff for mashed potatoes, peas, carrots, green beans, and creamed corn. Anything else?

It didn’t take long before his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he set a can of yams down, almost sure he wasn’t going to get them.

**From Stiles: 4:39pm**  
_That all sounds delicious! What about bread? Like those brown and serve roll things. So good. I hope you have plenty of butter._

Peter snorted to himself, turning his cart toward the dairy selection.

 **To Stiles: 4:40pm**  
I’ll get more butter.

**From Stiles: 4:42pm**  
_Sweeet! Should I bring a dessert? Pie? Do you prefer pumpkin or apple?_

**To Stiles: 4:44pm**  
Pumpkin, of course.

Peter put his phone back in his pocket and headed to the bread aisle, finding the rolls Stiles was talking about. He also grabbed some sweet Hawaiian rolls, just because. He was standing in a long line and repeatedly telling himself he couldn’t get away with murdering everyone when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

**From Stiles: 5:21pm**  
_Uh. Am I supposed to get you something?_

Peter rolled his eyes heavenward. 

**To Stiles: 5:23pm**  
No. I wasn’t planning on getting you anything.

**From Stiles: 5:24pm**  
_Oh good, there’s that bullet dodged._

**From Stiles: 5:26pm**  
_I would have probably gotten you a gift card anyway._

**To Stiles: 5:28pm**  
Having you over is enough.

**From Stiles: 5:30pm**  
_Aww, that’s sweet. :)_

Peter didn’t say anything else. He shoved his phone into his pocket and ignored the heat that came to his face.

* * *

The next time Peter texted Stiles, it was Christmas Eve, and the text was to tell Stiles that the food would be ready in an hour. He’d been cooking since that morning, and he was surprised to find that it felt nice to have something so extensive to do. He made dressing and gravy from scratch, and everything was almost done when there was a knock on the door. Peter headed toward it and smelled pumpkin before he even reached it.

Stiles grinned at him when he opened the door. “Hey!” He was wearing three layers, and his nose and cheeks were rosy from the cold. He had a pie pan and a container of Cool Whip. Splendid.

Stepping back, Peter showed Stiles in. “Hey, yourself,” he said, taking the pie and heading for the kitchen.

“Man, it smells great in here,” Stiles said, shaking off a shiver and following after Peter. He kicked off his shoes before entering the kitchen. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Nah, I’m just finishing up,” Peter said, before he pointed to the fridge. “There’s beer if you want it.”

Stiles blinked and opened the fridge. “You drink beer?” He grabbed one of the bottles and smiled, apparently approving of the label.

“No, but I figured you might.” 

Stiles grinned. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” Peter hefted the turkey out of the stove and set it on top. He moved the foil and smiled. The tab had popped, so the turkey was done.

After they moved everything to the table, the consumption was pretty easy. Stiles piled his plate high with meat and potatoes, saying he would eat the veggies next round. Peter laughed, even though he knew he was going to go back for seconds. 

The sound that Stiles made after his first bite had Peter distracting himself with his drink so as to not stare for how much it sounded like a sex moan.

They talked about inane things. Stiles was studying English Lit and mythology at the local college. Peter informed him that he’d majored in English Lit too, so they talked about all the reading they had to do for their classes. They agreed that _Hills Like White Elephants_ was probably what stuck with them most.

After they annihilated the food, they were both wavering, leaning on the table and sighing deeply. Peter was so full. He probably would have undone his pants if Stiles weren’t there. There was still plenty of turkey and ham left. He was going to be having cold cut sandwiches for a week yet.

“Ugh,” Stiles grunted, pushing his plate away and sagging in his chair. “I surrender. That was so good though.”

Peter blinked slowly, tiredly, before he yawned. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I want pie, but I think I will explode if I eat anything else.”

Snorting, Peter slowly rose. “There is one more thing I have for us.” He headed into the kitchen.

“Yeah? What is it?” Stiles asked, perking up.

“Patience,” Peter called back in a sing-song way, smiling to himself. He came back into the dining area with two steaming mugs, handing one to Stiles. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Stiles looked into the mug, his face splitting into a wide grin. “Hot chocolate?” He lifted it to sniff, before he made a pleased little noise.

“Mexican hot chocolate. It’s my mother’s recipe.” Peter lifted his own mug to inhale the scented steam.

Stiles blew on his a minute, before he took the daintiest of sips. His face went all pleasured again, and god those lips were _sinful._ “Homigawd, it’s so good.” His eyes fluttered open, and he grinned up at Peter. “Spicy.”

Peter took a scalding drink out of his mug and turned away. “Let’s drink it on the couch. There’s bound to be something on.”

Stiles got up, carefully holding his full mug. “Uh, A Charlie Brown Christmas, duh. It’s the only option.”

“I haven’t seen that in a _very_ long time,” Peter admitted, sitting down and grabbing the remote.

The movie was playing on five channels. They picked one that was closest to the beginning and sat back with their mugs. Peter found himself falling easily into the story, remembering pieces of it from when he watched it with his young nieces and nephew. 

At the end of the movie, their mugs were on the coffee table by their feet. Peter was having trouble trouble keeping his eyes open. He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at Stiles, finding him a bit glossy-eyed.

“Tired?” Peter asked, and Stiles replied in incoherent mumbles. Sighing, Peter managed to get to his feet. “Nothing for it then. Time for sleep.”

“‘Kay,” Stiles said in a yawn, flopping onto his side on the couch.

“Not there. I’m not being your pillow again,” Peter huffed with a sigh, grabbing Stiles and hauling him up. Stiles made a sound of confused as he was hoisted up off the ground and into Peter’s arms. He made further noises of what was probably distress as Peter dumped him on the bed.

Stiles laid there for a moment, eyes wide, before he wiggled and grinned. “Oh my god, this bed is soft.” He rolled over and stretched out his limbs. “This is my new home.”

Peter bullied him under the covers, before he moved around the bed to get in on the other side. He laid on his side, facing Stiles, and they stared at each other a moment. Then Stiles slowly moved his hand closer, laying it over Peter’s fingers. Peter looked at it, before he gave that hand a squeeze. Stiles smiled, before he closed his eyes with a pleased sigh. Peter gazed at his placid face for a while, before he let himself drift off too.

* * *

Christmas morning brought with it a biting chill that had Peter wanting to pull the covers up over his head. He tried, but his hand knocked into something warm, something that grunted in displeasure. He opened one eye and saw Stiles draped over his chest, face smooshed against his collarbone. He was breathing softly, and as Peter watched him, he gave a tiny whistle through his nose.

So, this was how Peter was going to die. That much cuteness should not have been in one person. He watched him sleep for a few minutes, finding a smile on his own lips when Stiles snuffled and curled his hand against Peter’s chest.

Eventually, Stiles slowly roused from sleep, opening one eye and then the other. His expression was glazed, and it took him a long time to realize he was on top of Peter. He looked down at Peter’s chest, then at his face. “Oh,” he said, and Peter thought he was going to get off him, but he just shifted so he was laying his head on Peter’s shoulder. “Mornin’.”

Peter snorted, reaching down to pull the covers up further. “Good morning.” He turned, wrapping his arms around Stiles and putting their faces very close together.

They stared at each a long moment, before Stiles seemed to realize something. “Merry Christmas, Peter,” he said softly, before he nosed at Peter’s chin.

Unable to stop his smiling, Peter nuzzled at Stiles’s forehead. “Merry Christmas, Stiles.”

Stiles tilted his head up and Peter tipped his down, and their lips connected quite on accident. They both pulled away in surprise, both with partly widened eyes. Then Stiles grinned, which made Peter smile back, and they moved together as one and pressed their lips together more firmly. It was sweet, hot and everything Peter wanted. They parted with a little smooching noise and pressed their foreheads together.

Then they started to laugh--giggle really--as they held on to each other. Peter couldn’t have asked for anything else for Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> -throws glitter everywhere-

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Holidays Are Happy With You [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8995021) by [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton), [SomethingIncorporeal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingIncorporeal/pseuds/SomethingIncorporeal)




End file.
